Whole
by callafallon
Summary: Mr. Gold is a sadist who is surprised when the innocent Miss French seeks him out because she has heard about his kink. RumBelle S&M. Trigger warning for self-harm.
1. Chapter 1

_This is S&M in the original meaning of the word. Marquis de Sade stuff, not 50 Shades of Gray. So, if you're looking for more fluffy or romantic types of S&M this probably isn't the story for you. It's about someone who likes giving pain finding someone who likes receiving it. You can read the unedited version of this chapter (which includes some pretty graphic multi-partner and dub-con stuff with Gold/Ruby and Gold/Kathryn at my tumblr .com. I had to edit it out to make it M. _

If you needed money in Storybrooke there were only two options, the bank or Mr. Gold. And since the bank demanded that you already have strong financial bona fides in order to qualify for a loan, in practice the only option was Mr. Gold. This was especially onerous since the only reason most people needed money in the first place was because of Gold raising the rent or using his influence to screw you in one way or another.

Sometimes quite literally.

It was an open secret that Gold would pay for sex, although he never actually propositioned anyone. They came to him in desperation and pleaded with him that they would do anything to settle their debt.

Pain. That was the common denominator in all of Gold's assignations. He didn't care if it was a man or woman, or what the sex act the performed was. It was their pain that got them paid. But it also insured that there were no repeat performances. Gold left those foolish enough to offer their bodies as trade well compensated, but utterly broken.

It didn't take long for those deals to dry up. Anyone who had the temperament to sell their body had already done so, and they wouldn't ever do it again.

It was no hardship to Gold when these deals dried up. He had enjoyed them, on a superficial level, but he could satisfy himself just as well with the fantasies that no experience to date had ever been able to match.

Those fantasies, as long as he could recall, all centered on the mousy little librarian, Helen French. She wasn't particularly noteworthy. A pretty enough face, he guessed, but it was always hidden behind her messy brown hair and thick black glasses. Her body was also a mystery since she wore long peasant skirts and baggy sweaters everywhere. What he did like about her was the way that she would blush demurely at anything even remotely sexual. In Granny's Diner she would never be able to look at Ruby's long legs or obvious cleavage without the blush rising to her cheeks. When someone would come to check out a romance book she would duck her head and turn pink.

They called her the perpetual virgin because she hadn't dated anyone since High School, and back then he'd dumped her because she wouldn't put out. Her inexperience scared any potential suitors who didn't want to have to take the time to teach someone the lessons that the other girls already knew.

But Gold wanted to teach her. He wanted to instruct her on exactly how to please him in perfect detail. And when she faltered in any way he wanted to take his cane to her backside until she begged for forgiveness and promised to not disappoint him again. He wanted to leave her crying again and again, but still coming back for more because she didn't know any better.

The problem was that Helen French didn't need anything from him. Her father was leasing a storefront from him where he ran a small florist shop, but he was estranged from his daughter. She may have helped him out with money now and then, but she wasn't going to offer her body up to save him. Her job as town librarian meant she reported directly to the town council and Regina, over which he didn't have any real sway in order to threaten her with. Between her work and some money left in a trust from her Mother's side of the family, the girl owned her own home and didn't need money. The only way he would see her would be in his fantasies.

And the innocent young thing did occupy a good deal of those.

In fact, he thought that it was one of those fantasies when he answered the doorbell of his home and found her standing there. It was raining, one of those summer storms that brought lightning and thunder through the night, and Helen was drenched from it.

"My car," she said when she realized he wasn't going to say anything, "I got a flat tire and ran off the road. And then my cell phone wasn't working. And I saw your lights on and so…"

"Yes," he said, suddenly finding his voice. "Please, come in Miss French."

She walked through the entryway and stopped. "I'm afraid that I'm going to drip all over your living room. I'm very wet you see."

She'd said that very phrase before in his dreams and it took him a moment to overcome the feeling of déjà vu. "Don't worry about it, dearie. It's just a little water. Just give me a moment and I'll get my keys. We'll have you back at your house in no time."

"Oh," she said. "I mean, I guess that makes sense. But, you don't need to go to that trouble for me."

"It's no trouble at all." Before he could turn away he was knocked into the wall by a mass of wet girl, her heavy sweater drenching his silk shirt and her mouth awkwardly trying to latch on to his. His cane clattered to the floor as he used both hands to pry her off of him.

Her entire face turned red, and a small tear began to fall from her eye down her already damp face. "I'm so sorry. You must think I'm some sort of idiot."

He traced the path of the tear with his finger, down her cheek and to the corner of her bare mouth. She wore no makeup, nothing to hide the natural glow of her responsive skin and the mauve tint to her mouth.

"Why are you here?" he asks, letting his thumb trace over her plump lower lip before pulling it down to look at her small white teeth. When she didn't answer he grabbed her wrist with enough force to cause her to squeal. "Why I ask a question, Miss French, I expect an answer. Why are you here?"

"Like I said, my car…"

"Yes. You just happened to go for a joyride in the middle of o lightning storm. And you just happened to drive from your little home on the other side of town to my home. My home, which is the only house on a dead end street with nothing else for miles around. Is that what you are telling me, Miss French."

She stared at him through her glasses. For the first time he noticed her eyes were the brightest blue he had ever seen. Not the pale blue grey that some people had, but the color of the cloudless sky. He reached up to remove the glasses which were keeping him from truly looking into their depths.

"Don't lie to me," he warned, "I'm not a man to be toyed with. Lies and manipulations make me very upset, Miss French, and I don't think you'd like what happens when I'm upset."

"I think I would." She looked away shyly as the words slipped out of her mouth. He lifted her chin to force her to look at him. Her eyes told him everything he needed to know. They were so clear that he could see right to her very soul. He could see the mix of need and desire that had brought her here.

"Can you hand me my cane?" he asked, watching as she quickly obeyed. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"A martini?" she said, "Or maybe a Cosmo? I've never really had a drink before, but that's what they have in the movies."

"Yes, well in the movies they also have bartenders and olives."

"I'm sorry," she said. He crooked his finger bidding her to join him and she did so. She sat on the barstool, her woolen sweater still dripping and her long skirt clinging to her legs.

"Don't be sorry. Your lack of experience is nothing to be ashamed of. Too many people go out and try things just because they don't want to be left behind. It's better to wait and enjoy things in their own time. You'll appreciate them more that way." He looked behind the bar for something he'd come across a few years ago and had been saving for a special occasion.

"Have you truly never had a drink, Miss French? Not even a sip of champagne at New Years?"

She shook her head. "I don't really like parties. I would much rather spend the evening with a book or in bed."

"I quite agree. I don't like celebrating out in public. Too much noise and rabble to deal with. I'd much rather welcome the new year with a more private party in bed." The blush was back on Helen's cheeks but she didn't look away this time. She was learning.

He popped the cork off the bottle of 1928 Krug champagne that he had bought off someone too stupid to know exactly what they possessed. He poured a single glass and took a small sip before passing it to Helen. She gripped the stem too tightly and her fingers were shaking as she tried to bring it to her mouth. He pulled it away from her and showed her the proper way to hold the glass.

"And don't down it in one gulp," he advised, "Take a sip and let it roll around your mouth. A vintage like this is to be experienced, not just drank."

"It's good."

Gold scoffed. "Good. I'll have you know that this is the vintage was served to the King of England in the first banquet after the War. It is considered to be one of the greatest champagnes of all time."

She took another sip. "You realize that I'll be ruined forever now."

"Ruined? From a few sips of champagne?"

"Well, ruined from ever enjoying champagne. If I ever have it again I'll just end up comparing it to this. It will always come up short."

He suddenly realized they weren't talking about drinks anymore.

"You never answered my question, Miss French. Why did you come here this evening? Why make up a story about your car just to get into my home?"

"The truth?"

He nodded. "I'll always reward you for the truth. Just as I'll punish you for a lie."

She nursed the glass until she'd downed the whole thing. He poured another, keeping it for himself this time. She could walk away now. He would never be able to catch up with her ad he would never get this chance again. Part of him screamed to stop with these games and just have her. Do the things he dreamed about while he had the opportunity. She clearly wanted him. Her furtive kiss earlier said that much. He didn't need to know anything more than that. And yet he waited. There was something he'd seen when he looked into her eyes that held the promise of more than just a random tumble on a stormy night.

"I've heard stories about you," Helen said, the hint of an Aussie accent becoming rougher after her drink. "They say that you're a monster who gets pleasure from the pain of other people. Is it true? Are you a sadist?"

"I don't like labels, but I suppose it fits. We all have our kinks. That happens to be mine."

Helen slowly removed her thick sweater and let it fall with a watery plop to the ground. Underneath she had on a wet white camisole that showed her pert pink nipples. But Gold's eyes looked away from them to the marks along her arm. Small raised white scars that ran from her elbow to her wrist. They were shallow and small and seemingly endless.

"Who did that to you?" he asked as he found himself ready to go personal punish whoever had scarred her perfect skin.

"I did it to myself."

The bottle of champagne made a spectacular sound as it crashed against the wall, followed by two glasses. His rage now slightly more under control he grabbed Helen's arm and shoved it in front of her face.

"That is not acceptable. You could hurt yourself with that type of thing. Do you know how easy it is to ut too deeply and end up dead? Do you want your father to have to see you like that?"

"I know," she cried, "But I can't help it. It's the only way that I can…"

"What? It's the only way you can feel alive. It's the only way you can release the pain? What's the excuse for putting your fucking life at risk."

"It's the only way I can get off."

She didn't cry or blush at the revelation. It was too raw, to honest, to bring up any of those defenses. The secret she had just told him was so deep that nobody else in the world knew it. The cuts were also along her legs and inner thighs. It's why she wore such baggy clothes and avoided intimate situations. She was a freak who couldn't have an orgasm unless her pleasure was tempered with pain. She'd figured it out when she was a teenager just starting to explore her body. Her hand could get her excited and build the pressure, but she couldn't actually find release without some type of physical pain. Cutting was the easiest way, but she'd also tried asphyxiation. She gave that up, though, when she'd woken up unconscious on the floor after pulling the silk scarf too tightly.

Over the years she'd heard the stories about Mr. Gold's cruel sexual demands. It was amazing what people would talk about when they realized that it was only the virginal freak in earshot. Just because she wasn't screwing around didn't mean she didn't know what they were talking about. She would find herself getting excited as they detailed their pain and humiliation as she imagined herself in their position.

"I lied about my car," Helen admitted. "It's parked down the road. I just needed to get to you. I thought that if I came needing help that you'd…"

"Take advantage of the poor defenseless girl? That isn't my style Miss French. I don't take advantage of anyone. I make deals with them. It isn't my fault that they agree to do anything without properly considering what anything could entail."

"I know what anything entails," she said quietly. "And I am ready for it."

He raised his eyebrows. "I wonder if you are. There are rules I would need you to agree to, Miss French. First of all, no more cutting. In fact, we'll make it easier for you. No self-pleasure. If we go through with this your pleasure will be mine. Every orgasm is at my command and under my control."

"Yes."

He slapped her cheek gently. "No talking until I say you can. That slap was a warning. In the future I'll leave a mark. I don't want you to just agree to these things. I'm not going to fuck you tonight, Miss French. So, you might as well take the opportunity to think these things over."

She opened her mouth, but quickly closed it. He rewarded her with a soft kiss to the cheek he had hit. "You're learning. That's a good girl. Now, where were we?" He ran through the rules with no further interruptions from her. Along with the prohibition on her self-harm and self-pleasure, he also expected her to be ready to serve him at any time. If he ever made a request that she didn't want to do she may get him to reconsider it by kissing his foot and saying "Please." But just because he would reconsider didn't mean that he would change his mind.

She would also have a safe word, he suggested that she choose it so that it would remember it. But if she used the safe word it would end their arrangement. He didn't tell her the reason for that rule, but the truth was that once he'd found her hard boundary he didn't trust himself to stay away from it. Ending the relationship at the use of the safe word would protect her in the end.

He allowed her to speak to tell him her previous sexual experiences, of which there was nothing more than some kissing and self-exploration. She was still a virgin, although he doubted her maidenhead remained intact since she had said that she used vibrators on herself. It was just as well. He didn't particularly enjoy the sight of blood.

"Do you have any questions?" he said as he finished.

"Yes. Do you think… I mean… will you kiss me?"

"If you agree to this there will be more than kissing, I assure you."

Helen shook her head, her brown hair still damp and clinging to her shoulders. "I meant tonight. I know you said that you weren't going to...fuck me," she stumbled over the word but regained her composure. "Please, can't I have a proper kiss?"

He fisted his hand in her hair and pulled until her head was tipped back, her mouth slightly open as she gasped. He took the opportunity to plunder her depths with his tongue, moving it in ad out of her mouth as he scraped his nails against her scalp. Her legs parted and she leaned back on the barstool, trying to wrap her legs around him but they were trapped under her long skirt. She was trembling, her heart beating so loud he could hear it. With a final bite to her lower lip he removed himself. She was panting, looking at him with such desperation that he briefly considered breaking his own vow and fucking her against the bar.

"Is that what you had in mind, Miss French?"

"Yes..." she made a face. "I don't know what to call you? I don't know your first name and Mr. Gold sounds silly."

"You can call me sir. Or master. And that's when I allow you to speak at all."


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing this and The Strange Case. I usually like to answer reviews personally, but I haven't been able to do that this week because I've been in court. But know that I read each review and love them all!_

_One common question is about update speed. At least one chapter a week for each story is what I'm aiming for. It could be more if my internship is slower on a particular week. But I aim for at least one chapter a week in each story. _

Helen hardly slept a wink when she came back from Mr. Gold's house. Just being near him was intoxicating, more so than the amazing champagne he had shared with her. There was no question that he was powerful. Even if she hadn't known about his money or background just the way he carried himself made it clear that he was not a man to be trifled with. He was like a lion. His movements were efficient but graceful, and when he watched you with those intelligent brown eyes it was as if he was stalking a small animal.

For the longest time she had wanted him. He was so different from the other men in town who were indecisive or boorish. Or both. Mr. Gold was sophisticated. For years she imagined herself being swept away by someone like him. At first she had lusted after the fictional men in books; Rhett Butler from Gone with the Wind or Petruchio from The Taming of the Shrew. She longed for someone who would challenge and tease her into submission. Eventually she realized the only man in Storybrooke who could do that was Mr. Gold. Even then she'd been afraid to go to him. He didn't date. He could have anyone he wanted in town through his money and connections. She was sure that if she went to him he would just laugh in her face.

And yet, he hadn't. He'd kissed her with a passion she thought didn't exist outside of books. His mouth had been slow as it tasted her thoroughly. He moved as if they had all night before them, and many more after that. Her few fumbling kisses in the past had felt hurried, as if they were simply going through the motions of lips and hands to get to the main event. Not Mr. Gold. With him each touch had felt as if it was as important as the one before it. Each movement embedded in her mind as she could still feel his hands on her skin.

It was hard to get through the night without touching herself. Helen wasn't an overly sexual person. The fact that she was still a virgin at her age was proof of her self-control. But when the mood did strike her she couldn't control herself. She once called in sick to work after a particularly explicit dream and spent the whole day in bed with a vibrator working herself to the peak and then finding release by inflicting a shallow cut on her thigh. But Mr. Gold had said that she couldn't do that anymore. No self-harm and no self-pleasure, the two were the same thing to her anyway.

He had been angry when he had seen the scars. Angry in a way that her father hadn't been when she had first started cutting herself as a teenager. Back then she didn't try to hide them. She wanted someone to see them and ask her if they could help. But nobody ever did. They'd see them, but they would just look away and stop making eye contact with her. That was when she started wearing the heavy sweaters and long skirts.

But Mr. Gold had seen them and been concerned. He'd given her a command and she would follow it. She hadn't officially decided if she was going to take him up on his offer, he had told her not to answer him until tonight. But she was already obeying his wishes, so maybe the decision was already made. But just because he had told her not to touch herself didn't mean that she still didn't want to. What he'd started last night left her feeling unsettled in the most delightful way, but it also made it hard for her to go about her normal day.

She'd fallen back asleep after her morning shower, just for a few minutes but enough that when she made it to the library Mary Margaret's class was already waiting outside. It was the first Friday of the month, the day when the kids would come for storytime and to check out books. Helen muttered an apology as she unlocked the doors. The kids came in and formed a line to return their books while Mary Margaret followed Helen behind the counter.

"Let me do that," she said, taking the barcode reader from Helen. Mary Margaret volunteered her on the weekend, allowing Helen some time off, so she knew how to use the machine. It gave Helen the chance to get herself a cup of tea and check the overnight book drop. She came back with a cup of coffee for the schoolteacher and two paperbacks waiting to be checked in.

"Sorry about this morning. My alarm didn't go off."

"Mine either. It got turned off when we lost power from that storm. That was something else, wasn't it? It's the type of weather that makes you just want to be curled up with someone you love."

Helen nodded, trying not to imagine being in Mr. Gold's bed with only the flashes of lightening to illuminate their naked bodies. No, she had to stop thinking like this or else the day would drag on forever.

Storytime helped take her mind off of the previous evening. The children were starting to study Greek mythology and Helen was helping explain the roles that the myths played. "People didn't understand the world," she said, "and so they made up stories to help explain it. That storm last night? They might say that it was Zeus using his lightning bolts because he was angry. If there was a shipwreck the people might blame Poseidon the God of the Sea. They even used mythology to explain why the seasons changed." Helen reached for a children's picture book based on mythology and turned to the story of Persephone, holding the book so that the children could all see the illustrations.

"The Goddess of nature was named Demeter and she took care of the lands so that the farmers could have a good harvest. She had a daughter named Persephone who was known for being beautiful and kind and sweet. Everyone loved Persephone, including the God of the Underworld, Hades. He loved her so much that he married her and took her with him to the Underworld."

As Helen looked to make sure the children were all paying attention she gasped when she saw Mr. Gold standing at the back of the group. He was leaning casually against a shelf wearing one of those perfect cut suits of his, and looking as if he belonged in some high powered office instead of a small town library. Her hand began to tremble and she had to take a breath to steady her nerves.

"So, um, Hades takes her to the Underworld, but Demeter is very sad because she misses her daughter. Demeter is so upset that she neglects the lands and nothing can grow. The farmers ask Zeus to do something and he goes to talk to Hades. They work out a deal so that Persephone would spend half the year with her mother and half with her husband. During the times of the year that Persephone is with her mother the land is fertile and things grow. But when she is with her husband her mother grows sad again and then there is cold and snow so nothing can be planted. And that was how the myths explain seasons."

Mary Margaret clapped her hands and the rest of the class followed. When they stopped Mr. Gold's slow applause was still going for a moment longer. Everyone was looking at him. Of course they were. He looked so out of place that it would have been strange not to stare.

"I can help you with something Mr. Gold?"

"Only if you're done with the kiddies."

Mary Margaret nodded and then began giving the children a weekend homework assignment to come up with their own myth. Helen pulled Gold into the back of the stacks, away from everyone.

"What are you doing here?"

"Worrying about the state of public education since you bastardized that story. You left out the kidnapping, the pomegranate seeds, the entire relationship between Persephone and Hades."

"They're children. I am not sure that the unedited telling of the Rape of Persephone is really appropriate."

"I prefer the Seduction of Persephone, but your point is well taken." He removed Helen's glasses with one hand and let out a small tutting sound.

"Miss French, the last time I saw that many bags I was at an airport. Did you have trouble sleeping last night?"

"I had a lot on my mind."

"Thinking? I do hope that all you were doing was thinking."

She took her glasses back from him. "I've been following your…request."

"Dearie, I don't request. I command. And I have another one for you. I assume you are planning on coming over this evening?"

"Yes. I've decided…"

He pressed his long finger to her lips. "No, not now. Tonight. But no matter what your decision I would like you looking special this evening. I've made you an appointment at Let Down Your Hair. They will be styling you. Your gown for this evening will be waiting there for you. Your appointment is at 4, and I've already cleared it with the Mayor's office to allow the library to close an hour early so that you can meet with me about the budget."

"The budget?"

"Just a pretense, Miss French, to explain our sudden association."

Of course he wouldn't want people to think he was actually seeing her. That would be too embarrassing. She pressed down her sudden feelings of hurt with a fake smile. "Is there anything else?"

He looked as if he was going to say something, but instead he shook his head and told her to get back to her work. He watched her with the children, getting down on her knees to be at their level as she spoke with them. She was such a contradiction. Could this sweet motherly figure be the same woman who had come to him the night before asking him to hurt her?

He worried that she wasn't really prepared for this. That she didn't know what she was getting into. He'd make it clear this evening. If she wanted to take him up on his offer she would need more than to say the words. And she had inadvertently given him the perfect idea for how it should be done.


	3. Chapter 3

Helen arrived an hour early. She justified the fact to herself by saying that she was only trying to avoid traffic, but Storybrooke never had a rush hour. This was a case of nerves, pure and simple. She couldn't just sit at home in the beautiful red silk dress that Mr. Gold had bought for her. So, she had driven in circles around his neighborhood until, on one round, he was waiting for her in his front yard.

"Miss French, would you like to come inside?"

_I want to come anywhere you want me_, she thought. But instead she just blushed. "I don't want to be a bother."

"You'll be less of a bother inside. I would have figured you for one of those environmental types who didn't believe in wasting fuel."

Her blush grew deeper. She parked in his driveway, and he opened the door for her. He was so gentlemanly and sophisticated. It was hard to reconcile that this man and his manners with the stories she had heard. With the man she fantasized about dominating her completely.

"Dinner won't be delivered for another thirty minutes," he stated as she sat on the couch. He would have to offer a reward to Rachel Unger, the owner of the Let Down Your Hair Salon. She had perfectly captured the look he wanted for Helen French. Her hair had been trimmed up and given some layers making it healthier. It was also well conditioned and allowed to show the natural wave instead of being forced straight, which was why it always appeared frizzy in the past.

"When was the last time you'd had a haircut before today?"

"Oh, I don't know. I usually just cut it myself if it gets too long."

"Yes, and it was clear why you are a librarian and not a beautician. From now on, you will have your hair trimmed every 6 weeks. If you want to do something different to it, a cut or color, I only ask that you get my permission first."

"You're talking as if I already accepted." Helen clamped her hand over her mouth, shocked that she'd said that. Of course she had thoughts like that all the time. Her inner mind was a very snarky, as cuttingly cruel towards other people as it was to herself. But those comments never came out of her mouth. Of course she'd pick this moment, the one where she was supposed to be showing her submissiveness, to come out.

Nervously, she looked at him. But instead of being upset he was smirking. "You're correct, Miss French. We have yet to officially seal the deal, although the act that you are wearing the dress I selected for you, with your hair and body prepared per my demands, certainly imply that your decision is already made."

She felt his breath on her shoulder, heard him inhale her scent. "Don't worry, dearie, I like a little fight in my prey. It makes the game more fun."

The doorbell rang with the dinner delivery and he allowed Helen to worry on the couch. She was anxious, and while that was attractive in a way, he also enjoyed the brief moment when she'd allowed herself a little backbone. Her outburst had clearly shocked her more than him. This was something he'd have to keep an eye on. It was his job to correct and control her, but it would be difficult to do this if she refused to give up the control she held on herself.

He gave the man from the restaurant a $100 bill and hurried him out the house. "Dinner is served," he said, lighting some candles on the table for ambiance. They ate in silence, although Helen' nervousness seemed to create a buzz of electricity that could be heard above the nothingness. He picked at the green beans and pushed around the garlic mashed potatoes.

"Do you not like steak?" he asked, seeing how she avoided it.

"Oh, it's lovely. I'm just not very hungry. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." He snapped at her cruelly. Then he took another bite of his own meal, and savored a sip of wine. She was still looking at him, behind her glasses her big blue eyes were seeking some type of explanation. "Miss French, I do not really believe in apologizing. It personally smacks too much of admitting guilt for my tastes. But even if you do want to apologize for something, you should make sure it is for things you actually have some need to apologize for. The fact you are not hungry hardly seems like something you must beg forgiveness for."

Helen nodded, and then pushed her food round with her fork. "Should I apologize for apologizing?" There was a playful grin upon her lips.

"A quip? My goodness, Miss French, keep this up and I might actually start to think you are enjoying yourself."

"I have been a little anxious this evening. I'm sor…I'm not even going to finish that sentence."

"Good girl," Gold said. And the phrase made Helen's chest tighten. It was so nice to hear someone praising her, even if his statement was mostly in jest. Helen had always felt that she was out of place. It was as if everyone else in the world had some script to the play and she just had to go around trying to make it up as she went along. Hearing that she was good, that she was not some freak, moved her in a way that was embarrassing.

"Since you seem to be in better spirits," Gold said, "I suppose we can discuss the rest of my expectations for you."

"Yes, Sir." His hand found her thigh under the table and squeezed it as a reward.

"Now, to what I expect from you. Along with the regular haircuts you will also have weekly facials, pedicures, manicures, and waxing treatments. Just a regular bikini, none of those fancy pubic hair topiaries so popular with your generation. Your lot is always putting more attention on the wrapping than the gift."

Helen was red faced now, and staring intently at her plate. Gold lifted her chin with no gentleness to force her to look at him. "Miss French, it doesn't do to be so embarrassed. We will be sharing many more intimacies than this. If just hearing about your body sends you into this type of state I can't imagine what will happen when you have to talk and show it."

"Should I be sorry for this?" she teased.

"No. You're modesty and innocence is an attractive quality, Miss French. I am looking forward to corrupting you."

He laid out the other terms of their relationship. Miss French would be arrive Friday evening at Mr. Gold's cabin in the woods, which he dubbed his playhouse. Once there she was expected to dress in an outfit waiting and follow written instructions. He would arrive an hour later. Until Sunday night she would belong completely to him. She would follow his directives and demands unless she kissed his feet to ask him to reconsider.

"Have you considered your safe word? It should be something memorable but that you won't come up in normal conversation." Helen nodded and told him the word, a bit of nonsense that had stuck in her head after story time with the pre-schoolers at the end of the day. Mr. Gold agreed the word would work, "I doubt that you'll accidently be saying that."

Mr. Gold left the remnants of their meal on the table and beckoned her to follow him to his study. It was a masculine room, much more so than the rest of the house that was cluttered with knick knacks. This room was sparse. A large oak desk, a few polished tables, and well cared for leather chair in front of the fireplace. He started a fire with a push of a button, a modern touch to the old school charm of the room, and sat in the chair. He let his cane fall to the ground with a thud. Helen stood like a statue near the doorway, unsure of what was expected of her now.

"Come here, Miss French," he bellowed. She stood before him, removing her glasses and setting them on the desk as she walked.

"On your knees, Miss French." She clumsily obeyed, her dress bunching up around her waist and twisting in spite of her efforts to remain graceful.

She didn't realize that it was this naturalness that he found so attractive. The world was full of women who had strived to reach some manufactured version of perfection. They all smiled the same smile and dressed the same, and said the same insipid things that they'd been told men liked to hear. They faked orgasms and moaned because they were performing for the men in their lives. Gold wanted something real. Pain was real. But in Helen there was the possibility for more. He could help mold her into the best version of herself, not simply try and turn her into someone else.

But she had to do this willingly. She had to have those blue eyes open. "I am not a kind man, Miss French. I can promise you pleasure, but not kindness. I will teach you the art of pleasure, and all I ask for in exchange is your complete submission. You will belong to me."

"Yes. I will."

He reached his hand out and stroked her hair a few times. As she relaxed into his petting he grabbed a handful of her thick brown hair and yanked at it to get her attention. "Did you follow my instructions Miss French? You haven't brought yourself off?"

"Yes," she whispered. He gave her hair another tug and she added, "Sir."

"Was it difficult to follow my command? And be honest, dearie. Tell me the truth and not what you think I want to hear."

Helen's mouth was dry when she tried to answer. His hand was in her hair again, but this time it was softer. As if he knew that her nerves were taking over and she needed reassurance. "I was very turned on after I left here. It was hard to go home and not just take care of myself."

"Did you suffer for me, Miss French? Did you toss and turn in bed wanting to find relief, but denying yourself because of my words?"

"Yes. Sir."

His hand went to his belt and slowly he removed it, and his pants. He pushed them down his pants along with his boxer shorts. When he sat down against the leather it was like a second skin against him, adding to the pleasure. Helen was transfixed at the sight of his cock, long and hard before her.

"Miss French, if I recall our previous discussion, this is the first time you've been up close and personal with one of these, isn't it?"

Helen nodded. Gold's voice held no note of teasing about her lack of experience, for which she was thankful. He took himself in hand, stroking firmly, before taking one of her small hands to join his. It was different than she expected. The skin was silky soft even though it was so hard underneath. Her hand strained to make a fist around his girth, and she added her other hand to the action, interlacing her fingers together.

"Fuck," he growled, closing his eyes. "Don't stop, Miss French. You're coming along nicely."

Helen's senses were on overload. The smell of musk and leather and the warmth from the fire at her back combined to block everything else from her thoughts but this moment. There was no past, the future didn't matter. She was just here and now, the only thing that mattered was getting Mr. Gold to continue to make those noises from the back of his throat.

"Miss French," he purred, "You remember the story of Persephone." Was he asking her about literature, at this moment? "Remember, Miss French, what Persephone had to do to bind herself to the underworld."

"Ate the seeds of a pomegranate?"

Mr. Gold pulled her hands away from his cock with a groan. "Yes, Miss French. If you want to be bound to this agreement, I need you to take my seed."

"I've never… I…I don't know what to do."

Mr. Gold ran his thumb along her lower lip, then gently pressing it into her mouth. He began moving his thumb in and out, allowing her to gently suck on it. With no preamble he pulled his thumb away and pressed her head towards his cock, which was practically trembling with need. Helen gave the head a peck, the briefest of kisses, but sweetly erotic. The wetness was only a moment, because then she began to swallow him and he could think of nothing else but what her beautiful mouth was doing. Her movements were tentative, but he urged her on muttering her name over and over again.

Helen was fascinated by the new sensations. The smooth skin was so soft against her tongue with a slightly salty flavor. It wasn't so bad, certainly better than what she'd heard so many girl talking about. She was spurred on by his reaction, an amazing sense of power filling her. She was doing this to him. Her lips and her mouth was giving him so much pleasure. It was a heady experience, knowing that with just a twist of her head and a swirl of her tongue she could make a man like Mr. Gold beg for more.

Gold's hips were beginning to buck his hips wildly, and gripping his hands into her hair. Although she'd never done this before she had read enough to know what was coming, although she was still surprised by how suddenly he erupted in her mouth. Helen swallowed, the reality of the moment sinking in. She had agreed to be his but all her anxiety fled away leaving only a deep longing in its place.


End file.
